The Harley in Harlequin
by kimbalias
Summary: Everyone knows who Harleen Quinzel becomes. The Joker's amour/most loyal henchman is vicious, a little pathetic, and dangerous. But it's the girl who meets the Joker as a young doctor in Arkham Asylum that caught my attention. Harley wasn't always a lovesick sidekick. Once, she was simply an ambitious doctor who fell in love with her patient: a villain known as 'the Joker'.
1. There Once Was A Girl

**I am always open to reviews: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am a strong believer in criticism being good for aspiring writers, so please post away. Enjoy! **

_"Quinn is a violent and__ unpredictable felon whose only motivation, beyond general  
mayhem, is achieving the Joker's approval. Because of his cruel and mercurial  
nature, this in some ways makes her just another of his victims - albeit a very  
dangerous one."** - **Biography of Harley Quinn from Batman: Arkham Asylum _

Prologue

She had never really seen being a doctor as her 'calling'. Many doctors called it that, this drive many of them had to help people by cutting them up into little pieces and patching them back together again. But she didn't. She liked to think of it as her passion. There were plenty of people in the world who could be as good at her job as she was. But no one, she often thought, loved it like she did.

It was the mind, not the body, in her case that was being cut apart. Dr. Harleen Quinzel spent her days with Gotham's most violent and dangerous criminals. She uncovered their secrets, broke down their barriers, and finally had them as well trained as puppy dogs. It wasn't inhumane, it wasn't cruel, and it wasn't any kind of justice or punishment. It was simply Dr. Quinzel's job to break the mind of every insane patient at Arkham Asylum, and the put it back together again, whole and healthy. Not everyone could stomach her job, and the thousands of Arkham employees who had quit were proof of that. Dealing with serial killers, child molesters, and rapists day in and out was too much for most people.

But Dr. Harleen Quinzel didn't consider herself one of 'most people'. She put herself through school on her own wits and a gymnastics scholarship and went on to graduate top of her class in medical school. She didn't date often – but that was mainly due to her impossibly high standards and expectations, so the few who dated her were always brilliant and successful. She was at an almost genius level IQ, and her memory was near photographic. All in all, she was fairly happy with her life, if perhaps a little lonely from time to time. Her job was her life and she understood that didn't leave a lot of room for other people to join her.

Chapter 1

She didn't usually have for breakfast in the morning. So as usual, she grabbed a cup of coffee on her way out the door.

Arkham Asylum greeted her impassively in its glory, as usual. The gothic styled building was tall and stoic with its marble arches and dark grey brick, placed in the oldest and poorest part of Gotham. Dr. Harleen Quinzel walked in with a nod to the security officer at the door and her ID in her hand to pass the five checkpoints it took to get to her office.

She sipped her coffee, looking idly at the files on her desk. She pressed the blinking red button on her phone as she traded her dark grey coat for her stark white doctor's one.

Dr. Quinzel picked up her various folders, collecting those which involved the patients whom she had rounds with that day, and nearly immediately made her way down the cold and dark hallways.

The usually deserted hallways weren't empty though. Doctors clustered together in tight knit groups, whispering rapidly.

"What's going on?" Harleen asked to a familiar face as she passed.

The doctor took a minute to give her an appreciative glance over, from her blonde ponytail to her tight wool skirt. "A new patient was brought in last night. Rumor is that it's the Joker."

"The Joker?" Harleen asked in surprise, but the man had already turned around to his companions.

But it wasn't just the doctors who were fascinated with the Joker's alleged return to Arkham.

"Is he here? Really here? Is it safe? Can I leave? Where is she? Is she safe? Alice doesn't like the Joker. Once he ruined our party, and we woke up on the other side of the city in a dumpster. Are you sure he's here? He can't be. . . Why would they bring him in HERE? Can I make sure Alice is okay?"

Dr. Quinzel's efforts to calm Jervis Tetch were as futile as it was with her other patients. No one could get the fear or enthusiasm out of their head that the Joker was possibly in the same building.

At lunch, Harleen Quinzel entered the cafeteria to a near empty room.

"Where is everyone?" she asked in disbelief to a fellow doctor leaving with her white coat flapping around her.

"Mary is questioning the Joker for the first time since he's been brought in right this minute. How she got him I'm not sure . . . but she must be sleeping with Bradley because I know half the staff would kill to be on his case." The doctor prattled on. "Anyway, it's in Room 034. Come and see! I'm dying to see what she says about him!"

Harleen followed her out of cafeteria down the several flights of stairs until they reached the basement. She followed warily behind as the doctor excitedly reached the large group of people waiting outside the door to one of the most secure and isolated rooms in the entire facility.

_So I guess the rumors are true,_ Harleen thought idly, taking in the excited chatter. She waited silently a few feet down the wall from the rest of the doctors.

After ten minutes, Harleen was sneaking glances at her watch. But with no warning, the door opened, and the group inhaled.

Dr. Mary Wentworth opened the door, her eyes wide and greying hair falling out of its usually immaculate bun. Everyone immediately began throwing out questions to her, animated and lively. But Harleen took in the level of moisture in her eyes, the size of her pupils, and the nervous wringing of her hands, and knew what was going to happen right before it did.

Mary burst into tears, sobbing hysterically in loud hiccups, and a hush fell over the doctors. A few leaned forward, concern on their faces, but Mary shook her head and ran down the hallway, passing Harleen on the way.

No one saw Dr. Wentworth for the rest of the week. Harleen heard the latest rumors and dismissed all of them. The most believable was that she had left with her family to head for Bermuda on a 'permanent' vacation. The tension in the hospital increased day by day as carefully chosen doctors attempted to work with the 'Crown Prince of Crime'.

But for whatever reason, all of them failed. Dr. James Pierce, a closer acquaintance of Harleen, lasted the longest. He made it a week before he made his way to Dr. Bradley's office, pale and slightly clammy, to request a switch. Harleen knew personally that some of the doctors who had attempted to treat the clown had actually been committed to the institution. Her curiosity grew, but she accepted the fact that her services would never be requested. Though the man known as the Joker was under her specialty (severe personality disorders _definitely_ applied to a sadistic murderer who referred to himself as a 'Joker') interns simply didn't get the big, dangerous, or glamorous cases. She was fresh faced and just out of college – and no matter how serious and focused she was that still stood up first and foremost.

But there was something about him that struck with her. She dealt with the maniacs, the crazies, the insane. But there was something about a man who went around murdering people with a grin on her face that was just so damn, well, ironic. He intrigued her in a way no patient before him had. Almost immediately, she wanted to meet him. She wanted an hour to pick his brain and uncover what secrets an insane clown with a bat complex had. So Harleen decided if the Joker's case wasn't going to be handed to her, it was up to her to get it.

The day she decided, she went straight from work to her local department store. Her boss Issac Bradley was a known womanizer who had a thing for busty blondes. If the various very young and very beautiful under qualified secretaries weren't proof enough, the countless sexual harassment complaints were.

The salesgirl helped her, because 'flirt', Harleen Quinzel was not. The salesgirl helped Harleen pick various red and pink silky tops, cut much lower than anything in her closet at home. The skirts she chose were tighter, darker, and shorter. Harleen thanked her and went home with her new purchases, feeling rather like a cheap whore.

Carefully applying her red lipstick in the mirror the next day, Harleen gave herself the once over. High heels, check. New black pencil skirt, check. Slutty red top, she thought wryly taking in her extra inch of cleavage, check. She fluffed her blonde hair over her shoulder. Check. She gave herself one last attempt at a flirty smile, decided it looked like she was trying to sneeze, and shrugged on her white doctor's coat.

She got more than a few appreciative glances that day. Several men in the hallways, some she knew and most she didn't, gave her the lingering once over. Taking that in stride, Harleen knocked on her boss's door with only a touch of nervousness.

"Come in." Without looking up, he asked, "Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time, Dr. Bradley," Harleen said as sexy as she could manage. He looked up, a little surprised, and took her in for the first time. His eyebrows rose even higher.

"Dr. Quinzel, please, take a seat." He indicated to the leather chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

She smiled at him slowly, taking her time on her words. He smiled back, slightly bewildered by her first noncompulsory visit to his office.

"Recently, I became interested in one of the patients. I was curious if I could look at the case file. Even perhaps, if you were willing, treat him."

"Your workload is already fairly full," he replied, not unkindly. "What patient were you looking at, exactly?"

Harleen swallowed compulsively. "Patient 034."

"Patient 034," he repeated in disbelief. "You're kidding me."

"Well, no. I'd like the uh, challenge. If you'd be willing to give it to me of course, sir."

"Dr. Quinzel," he shook his head. "I honestly don't understand why you'd even _want _to treat the Joker. Have you seen what he's done to the last couple of doctors who have attempted to help him?"

"I know," Harleen stammered, not even sure why she did want to be around a psychotic clown. "It's just. I – well, I find him fascinating, sir."

Bradley got up from behind his desk and smoothed his hair back. "Look, Harleen, it is Harleen, isn't it? You're a bright girl. So trust me when I say, you don't want him as your patient." He placed his slightly sweaty hands on her shoulders and Harleen had to force herself not to shudder. "Now, if you're bored, I might be able to pull some strings so your  
services could be reassigned. I don't see why I can't do that for you, Harleen."

Harleen stood up, shaking off his hands with one brusque motion. "That won't be necessary, sir. Thank you for your time," she smiled aloofly, and before he could say anything, walked hurriedly out of his office.


	2. Intrigue

Chapter 2

That night, barley a whisper of the wind rustled through the tall buildings of Gotham. The sky beheld thousands of tiny and sparkling stars, usually hidden above a city of such great size. Even the petty criminals in the streets took a moment to appreciate such a perfect summer night in Gotham. But Harleen Quinzel was restless, turning over and over in her bed, and sleep seeming hours away.

If anyone had asked her, she would have said nonchalantly that her preoccupied mind was focused on work related business. But Harleen knew deep down that her head was only full of one thing. One person, really.

She tried picturing him a thousand different ways. She of course had an idea of what he looked like, you'd have to live under a rock not to. She knew that he was of fairly average height and build, had facial scarring on either side of his mouth, and dyed green hair. But she wasn't working with any point of reference, merely a mixture of gossip and newspaper articles.

She wondered restlessly if a doctor had yet to have the opportunity to speak with him and analyze his behavior yet. Harleen realized that there might be someone out there who knew his secrets: childhood memories, idols, even his motivations for his lifestyle. She wondered if he was awake at that moment or was passed out on the recurrent sedatives doled out in Arkham.

Eventually, her curiosity overtook her better thinking. She flipped open her laptop and typed "The Joker" in the search bar. She waited for the results to pop up; her head constantly twitched. She was suddenly paranoid all that someone was watching her.

_It's three o'clock in the morning, Harleen. No one is even awake right now. And no one is curious as to what's on Harleen Quinzel's computer. Besides, you're not doing anything wrong. This is just plain and harmless curiosity_, she told herself.

But after pages and pages of vague and ridiculously bias newspaper articles about spats between the Batman and the Joker, Harleen was hacking into the GCPD firewalls. Now she had something to worry about, at the very least that her actions were no longer legal, but her attention was diverted into her findings.

A slightly blurry mug shot of the Joker, five years ago, grinning like a fiend. Data reports: height, weight, fingerprints (with no known match), clothing samples, dental records (also with no match). An IQ test: he had actually tested surprisingly well for someone who didn't know he was taking one. Harleen guessed he must be at genius level, if not above.

And then the analyses: Harleen flicked through them impatiently, bored by the overstated concerns and ridiculously repetitive and ignorant phrases.

_Possible split personality. Aversion to childhood. Takes pleasure in bloodshed and violence. Possible schizophrenia. Possible bipolar disorder. Lack of regard for human life. Very dangerous. Aversion to past. Obsession with psychological games and testing. _

Harleen floated back to the newspaper articles, reading about Joker's attempted escapes, murders, and various crimes. He had actually been successful in a surprising amount of his endeavors. There were many banks, bodies, and buildings lying either destroyed or empty in his wake.

But Harleen soon caught the pattern. When the Batman became involved, more times than not, the Joker was either apprehended or stopped. _Seems like the police aren't doing such a dandy job, _Harleen thought with a snort, thinking of her ease at accessing the restricted files.

Her eyes eventually rested on a picture taken by a bystander at a fresh crime scene that occurred the previous Batman, all muscles and black armor, had the Joker pinned to the wall by the collar of his purple suit. Harleen found her almost (dare she even think it?) pitying the Joker. She ignored the crumpled bodies at his feet; instead she stared at his bruised face and impossibly grinning face.

A rush of fiery adrenaline hit her veins and she felt a stab of anger directed to the Batman, hurting the Joker like that. Obviously the Joker had made some mistakes, but did he have to nearly _choke_ him like that?

"But you never stopped smiling," Harleen whispered aloud, her eyes alight on the Joker.

She jumped slightly and shut the laptop with a snap, finally remembering what she was doing in the middle of the night with work the next morning. She tossed her body back under the covers and slept fretfully.

The next morning, Harleen remembered that she had screamed during the night, over a nightmare that had left her with a clammy feeling all over. But though it had obviously terrified her, she couldn't quite remember what she had screamed about.

* * *

"Are you even awake?"

"I'm sorry?" Harleen jumped. Truth be told, she had been dozing off.

"You look tired, Harley-girl. Boy troubles?" Pamela Isley grinned impishly at her, glad to see the tables turned.

Remembering her place, Harleen asked, "Does that interest you? The thought of my association with men, Ms. Isley?"

She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. The brilliant former botanist, Dr. Pamela Isley was once destined to do great things in her field. But after a horrible incident the previous year, Dr. Pamela Isley had transformed into a type of hybrid: a woman with plant DNA who went by the name of 'Poison Ivy'.

"Whatever, Harley-girl."

"You mean, Dr. Quinzel, of course."

"Yeah, whatever."

Harleen was well-versed in Pamela Isley's attitude. She had been serving as her doctor for the better part of a year, ever since Miss Isley had somehow convinced her previous doctor to break her out, steal nearly ten thousand dollars in cash, and in the meantime fall in love with her. It had been decided that strictly female staff was better suited to associate with Pamela Isley's person.

"So, what would you like to talk about today? What's on your mind, Ms. Isley?" Harleen asked her.

"What about where_ your_ mind is? I like your new outfit," she commented casually, examining her red hair.

"Thank you," Harleen answered, trying not to show any emotion. She was wearing one of her new black skirts and low-cut red tops. She tried to ignore the discomfort and embarrassment she felt whenever they touched her body. After her previous failed attempt, Harleen had reluctantly given up any hope of landing the Joker as one of her patients.

"Of course, compared to the garbage they make me wear, I think I'm glad to see anything that isn't made out of polyester," Pamela Isley prattled on, mostly to herself.

"Mhm?" Harleen commented quietly.

"Yeah, but seriously, honey. You need some boy advice, I'm always here," Pam winked. "If I could help you with anything right now, I'd say ditch the braid and pull down the top. You're not a nun, sweetie."

"Miss Isley," Harleen attempted to stop her.

"The trick with men," Pamela Isley informed her, "Is to let them think they have all the control. They always like to think they're the ones making the decisions. But really honey, all you've got to do is go to them all doe-eyed and whimpering and you've got their balls in the palm of your hand." She grinned.

Harleen had to stop herself from grinning back. _What is _wrong _with me_, she wondered, exasperated at herself for nearly encouraging a patient.

"Um, interesting. Let's . . . uh, how about we talk about your father, Miss Isley?" Harleen attempted to get them back on track.

Pamela Isley sighed. "We always talk about that, Harley-girl. If you must, I suppose –"

Harleen heaved a sigh of relief.

* * *

"So, it looks like Bradley might have to do some work, for once."

"What do you mean?"

"Another failed attempt at curing the Joker. I don't think anyone's lasted longer than a week. The guy's going to have to do something."

"But . . . No one way _he's _gonna work with the Joker. I can't remember the last time he left his office other to flirt with some cute thing in a skirt. "

"Doesn't look like he has much of a choice. They're running out of people to work with him. And the scum's got to be treated, or else they can't justify putting him in Arkham, can they?"

"Well, it's not like Blackgate wants him . . ."

"'Spose not. Hey, did you hear the other day that – "

Harleen overheard the conversation during her lunch later that week. She looked comical: her spoon of yogurt halfway to her open mouth in the cliché display of 'surprise'. But she wasn't just surprised, she realized. She was angry.

She stormed out of her seat, leaving her tray and food half eaten. She nearly sprinted to her office and locked the door with shaking hands. Harleen wanted to make sure no one could confuse her angry tears spilling down her cheeks for upset ones.

_That ass is going to work with him and he doesn't even want to! That, or they'll send the Joker stock full of drugs to Blackgate. What a waste, just because the man is so goddamn ignorant, _she fumed.

She knew that her anger was making her a bit irrational, so Harleen decided to take advantage of her fury while she could.

She pulled her hair out of its braid to trade it for a messy bunch of tangles. She undid the topmost button of her blouse, revealing just the hint of her lacy brassiere. She swiped on some dark lipstick and wiped away her tears, smudging her eyeliner. She caught a look of herself in the mirror before she left and nearly cried out in surprise.

She almost didn't recognize herself.

Later, she slipped into Dr. Bradley's office with a slam of his door and click of his lock.

He looked up in surprise. "Dr. Quinzel? What –"

She walked confidently over to his desk with a swing of her hips. His eyes had already been on her cleavage when she first walked in, but now that her breasts were at his eye level, he was having trouble looking up into her eyes.

"Is there something wrong –"he stammered.

Harleen walked around and assertively grabbed hold of his tie. The man dropped his glasses and pen on the floor.

Harleen pulled it a little harder. She enjoyed the startled look on his face.

"Look. It's very simple. I want something from you. And I'm sure there's _something,"_ she added seductively, "that you want from me. So tell me, Doctor," she leaned forward so that her mouth was nearly an inch away from his lips, "What can you do for me?"

Harleen observed the sweat dripping down his brow with a hidden smirk. "I, uh, -"he managed.

"Yes?" she asked innocently, dropping down so she was nearly straddling his knees and giving him an ample view of her breasts.

"I, I uh, I suppose I can transfer you Patient 034 to your rounds, Harleen."

"You promise?" she asked, her face suddenly switching to that of tragic child insecurity.

"Yes. I uh, I promise."

"Good," her voice switched back to its previous confident tone. "Then do it." She aggressively pushed his chair up to his computer.

She popped open a button on her top as he typed frantically.


	3. A Drop of Blood

Chapter 3: A Drop of Blood

Harleen had spent her last two years at Arkham falling under the radar by nearly everyone at the institution. She was quiet, kept to herself, and quite honestly thought most of the gossiping, sorry-excuses for doctors were beneath her notice. But all of a sudden, Harleen Quinzel was news.

"Guess who the new doctor on the Joker case is?"

"Can you believe that little piece of ass –"

"I heard that she –"

"Apparently, Harleen did a little extra-credit – "

"How the hell did she manage –"

"What is this place coming to if pretty little interns can -?"

"Hey, if she wants Zsasz next, she's going to have to do a lot more than sleep with me -"

"Shush, here she comes!"

Harleen walked through the halls off Arkham Asylum ignoring almost everyone. A few civilized companions congratulated her with slightly bewildered and doubtful eyes when the news got out that Harleen was on the Joker's case. But for the most part, everyone with either jealous or disgruntled and Harleen took it with a smile.

It didn't matter, now, what anyone thought of her. Even the few gossips who had actually guessed correctly about how she got selected for the Joker case didn't matter. Young intern or not, she had control of most likely the biggest case of her career. She knew that she would be the one to cure the Joker. And after that happened, no one would ever think of her as a piece of ass again.

The day of her first session with the Joker, Bradley waited for her outside his cell. Harleen attempted to pass him with a curt nod of her head, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Now, listen. Before you go in there, I want to warn you –"

"He's a dangerous criminal and I shouldn't forget that, blah blah –"  
"Harleen! Listen," his grip on her arm turned viselike. "He's an expert manipulator. Don't forget that! You can't let him get under your guard."

"I know that –" Harleen started to protest.

"No. No, you don't. The last couple of doctors . . . He gets under your skin, Harleen. Don't feed into his games. _Don't_ give him any information about yourself because he can take it and twist it as if _he's_ the one with all the control."

"This isn't my first day," Harleen shook off his hand.

"This is not your typical patient. Don't forget that! He's escaped this institution twice already. And he's definitely not doing it this time," he insisted to her turned back.

"So that's it?" Harleen turned around with a mocking smile. "It's your precious ego that's really the worry here? Don't worry, Issac. I certainly wouldn't that to be ruined."

"Look," he said as his face flushed red. "You're very young. Maybe –"

"You didn't think I was so young the other day in your office," Harleen interrupted smoothly. She kept her face cold, but on the inside she was sweating.

_Since when did I get so . . . Brazen, exactly?_

His face turned from red to deep purple. But he said nothing as she passed by the two guards in front of the Joker's cell.

She listened with half an ear as they explained to her basic procedures of a level ten patient (He's tied up nice and tight. But if there's any funny business, don't be afraid to push the little red button underneath the table. You press that and we rush in, guns blazing) and attempted to mentally prepare herself.

Despite her demeanor with Bradley, she was very nervous to be alone in a room with the man responsible for more than dozens of murders. But as the door finally slid open to reveal the small 8x10 room, she did her best not to show it and strolled over to the available nailed down seat and desk.

She settled herself in silently. Her recorder was switched on, her pen was uncapped, and her legs were crossed.

"Good morning," she finally said without a trace if a tremor as she looked up for the first time. "My name is Dr. Quinzel."

Her eyes were first seized by the straightjacket. The taught fabric and stark whiteness of it belonged hereat Arkham. But next to his limp green hair, it somehow seemed out of place. Her eyes trailed up from his green hair to his mouth, which was shockingly red and scarred. His face still held the remains of the white garish makeup that was his namesake (he must be opting out of his showers, Harleen noted), though it was streaked and faded in most places. Finally, her eyes made it up to his.

His eyes were dark and unreadable. Deeply set in his face, they were mostly caught in shadow from his brow. He moved his head slightly forward, into the light, and Harleen saw the quick flash of intelligence in them.

He licked his lips slowly, still staring at her. "Nice to meet ya, Doc," he said finally.

"And what should I call you?" Harleen asked.

"Well, what's on my chart, Doc?" Joker asked, looking bored.

Harleen looked down and caught a glimpse of the basic information she hadn't bothered to look at. "John Doe."

"No," he said before she could even finish. "That I'm not."

"Well then, you tell me what to call you," she answered back.

He shrugged back coolly. "I know you people aren't allowed to call me 'Joker'. Might make me slip back into my old tendencies." He licked his lips again. "But I haven't gone by any other name for a very, long time." He turned his head from Harleen and stared at the wall.

Meanwhile, Harleen was fighting inwardly with herself. She had an idea, a crazy idea, but she was pretty sure it could work. But she also wasn't sure if it was crossing the line of distancing between psychotic patient and doctor. She deliberated for a moment and finally decided to try it.

"How about, Mr. J?" she asked casually. His head whipped around.

"What does the 'J' stand for?" He asked skeptically.

"Well. The obvious, of course." She narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering if he'd take it and bite.

He grinned for the first time since she entered the room. "Well, then. Can't argue with that."

She smiled back, triumphant.

* * *

The next day Harleen went for her first run in months. Though her pace was fairly slow at first, it didn't take long for her stride to lengthen and her body to get back in the rhythm of running.

She used to run a route around Gotham University when she was enrolled there as a student. Her mind often needed a break from studying and her body was used to the physical exertion after the years of serious gymnastics. But Arkham kept her busy enough where she didn't have the time to perform any sort of regular exercise, except her weekly gym visits where she donned her leotard and gloves for strictly gymnastics related exercise.

But that day, a run seemed like the only possible thing she could do to clear her mind. She had been up half the night with thoughts swirling around her head about the Joker and their first session. As she stretched before she began, she mentally put the Joker and his intriguing case into a different compartment in her brain. Now her only focus would be the brightly lit path in front of her.

After about half a mile through the giant stretch of woods a couple miles outside of Gotham, Harleen thought she heard footsteps behind her.

_It's probably just a rabbit or something, _she told herself.

Still, she refused to look behind her to check. Her heart began to beat faster and faster despite her constant pace. She passed by tree after tree, ignoring the concerned look of the occasional passerby after they caught sight of her red face and crazed eyes.

She knew that it was very unlikely something was following her. Still, Harleen felt as if she was being watched by some unknown source. _You're just being paranoid_, her inner psychologist told her. _That's what happens when you store away disturbing thoughts instead of addressing them_. Harleen privately agreed. But that didn't stop her from being terrified of the phantom behind her.

Eventually, Harleen decided the only way to avoid the brain-induced paranoia was to irrationally sprint. Her body protested as her pace increased so much that every tree was a green blur. Soon her whole body was nearly giving out with heaves. Just as she realized she was either going to pass out or collapse, her left foot caught on a stray root in her path. Her whole body went down, hard, and all she could do for several minutes was to lie there, gasping for air.

After she was finally able to inhale without sounding like a water bound fish, Harleen assessed her condition mentally, decided there were no broken bones, and looked at her body for the first time. With mild surprise, Harleen discovered that all she had suffered despite her hard fall was a scraped knee.

She stared at the torn skin with vague interest as a single drop of blood leaked out. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and caught it with her finger just before it could touch the dirt-encrusted ground.

She stared at the garnet red pool - oddly fascinated - and felt almost disappointment as it slid to the ground. With a slight jump and no warning, her mind was brought back to her eerie session with the Joker.

* * *

"So, what would you like to talk about?" Harleen asked.

"Don't you usually ask the questions?" Joker asked indifferently.

"You've probably been to just as many of these sessions as I have," Harleen answered honestly. Was it her, or was that a _smirk_ on his face? "So I figured you could pick the conversation topic."

After nearly a minute of silence, Harleen frowned slightly.

"Well, how do you sleep?" Nothing. "Do you eat well?" Silence. "Do you have any particular memories on your mind, today?"

He laughed unnervingly and Harleen stopped. "Are those off a list?"

Harleen felt her face redden. As a matter of fact, they had been.

"You need some new material," Joker suggested.

"Do you enjoy being here, Mr. J?" Harleen asked impatiently. This wasn't going as well as she had hoped.

He shrugged.

"What _do_ you enjoy?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes. You can be completely honest with me," Harleen told him, leaning forward a little on her seat.

"Blood. That's what I love," Joke leaned forward despite his constraints, his face alight with excitement. "I love how it just . . . flows out of a body. It's like trying to keep water in your hands, no matter how tight you hold it some always manages to just," he paused, "rush out.

"I love the different shades. My favorite is the dark, dark shade when it drips from one of your vital organs," he licked his lips and grinned at her. "It's like there's a little bit of black mixed in with all that red. First, it'll trickle out, just a teeny bit. And then all of a sudden, unexpectedly, it'll pour out of a body like its _dying_ to get out of there. People have more blood than you could ever imagine. I enjoy it – watching it leave a body." He sat back and grinned expectantly at her.

"Is that why you kill people?" Harleen asked calmly, though her insides were squirming.

He shrugged, back to his former indifferent face. "Perhaps. I think there are a lot of reasons I kill people, Doc."

"Do you regret any of them? Any of the deaths you've caused?"

"One," the Joker's face darkened and his grin nearly disappeared.

"Who?" Harleen asked, not expecting him to answer her.

"A conversation for another day, Doc," the Joker said with his manic smile.

"What?"

He nodded to something behind her. One of the guards had a head in the room. Harleen hadn't even heard the door open.

"Harle- I mean Dr. Quinzel. You were paged. You're needed in one of your patient's rooms."

"Um. Yes. I'll be there in one minute." Harleen nodded at him pointedly.

"So that's it for today, Mr. J," she said turning back towards the Joker. "I'll be back soon. Do you have any concerns before I leave?" Harleen asked out of routine, shutting off her recorder and placing her pen and notepad full of notes in her bag.

"'Harle'? Is that short for Harleen?" he asked innocently.

Harleen's head jerked up.

"It's an interesting name," he said thoughtfully, almost to himself. "Rearrange the letters . . . And you could be Harley Quinn. Like Har –"

"Harlequin." She nodded, her stomach like ice. "The clown-like doll thing. I've heard that one before." She stuttered over the word 'clown'.

"Interesting," was all he said. "That's . . . Very interesting." He grinned at her, his lips almost pulling back from his teeth. Harleen got out of that room as fast as she could, trying not to show how badly her hands were shaking.

Back in the present, she stared down at the drop of the blood on the ground in horror. She suddenly realized how bad her reaction to his session had been. And how bad her reaction was now.

_I'm letting him affect me, _she thought with dread. _He's . . . He's changing my thoughts._


	4. The Crazy in You

Chapter 4:

_I should request a transfer, _was Harleen's first reluctant thought when she woke up the following day. _It would be the right thing to do. I can't let my . . . interest in his case impede on my ability to treat him. _

But despite her better thinking, she knew she couldn't go talk to Bradley about switching the Joker to someone else. Part of it was impatience; she didn't go to such lengths to just go and give up. Part of it was pride; she could just imagine the looks on Bradley and everyone's face when she admitted she couldn't handle the Joker. But mostly, it was interest. She craved to know what else he would tell her. Despite his attempt at disgusting and escaping her, (she had enough brains to know what his little blood soliloquy was, at least) Harleen was still preoccupied enough with the Joker to want to know more.

Even Pamela Isley noticed. Secretly one of Harleen's favorite patients, in the past Harleen usually enjoyed their sessions the most. She was an amusing and entertaining break in Harleen's crazy filled day. She usually privately chuckled at all of her boy-related chatter and childish-like mood swings. But even she couldn't distract Harleen.

"There something on your mind, Harley-girl?" Pamela Isley asked one day.

"What? Oh, no. Of course not. We are here to talk about you," Harleen replied, not even bothering to correct her.

"Yes there is." Pamela Isley grinned. "Is it a boy?"

Harleen started to say something to change the subject, but something in her eyes must have alerted Pamela Isley.

"Yay! Harley's got a boyfriend! Yay, yay, yay," she grinned at Harleen.

"I –" Harleen shook her head. "Miss Isley, I must insist –"

"I don't like it when you call me that. 'Miss Isley,'" she mocked.

"Why not? What about it bothers you?"

"Nothing. I'd just prefer – Pammy. Like we're girlfriends. How does that sound?" she grinned mischievously at Harleen.

"That's not appropriate," Harleen began with a stern tone.

"Back to the boyfriend," Pam interrupted, changing tactics quickly. "What's he like? Do I know him? Is he handsome?"

Harleen shook her head.

"Is it the Joker?"

Harleen's attention was caught, though she tried not to show it. "Why would you say something like that?" she asked attempting to be casual.

Pam shrugged. "Rumors get around. Even for girls on male lockdown," her eyes burned angrily for a moment. "He's not very nice, Harley-girl," she said disapprovingly, her normal expression back. "But I guess he's kind of cute. In a weird, scarred, clown kind of way. You should go for it."

"Dating patients isn't acceptable," Harleen protested, attempting to close the subject then and there.

"Still. If it's true love," Pam laughed so hard she brought tears to her own eyes. Harleen felt a blush creep up her neck and fidgeted uncomfortably. "All I'm saying is – some things are worth breaking the rules for. I would've killed everyone for my babies," she says rather sadly to Harleen. "But I didn't get the chance. You've still got your chance, Harley-girl," Pam leaned forward, her eyes quite serious.

She then leaned back and laughed. "That's all assuming you're in love with a clown, right? Anyway, back to me. My dream last night was –"

Harleen tried to focus on Pam's open mouth and ordinary prattle but her head was elsewhere. _A chance to do what?_

* * *

"Why? Why do you do it all?" Harleen asked immediately into one of her sessions with the Joker. "You kill people and torture them with no remorse. You steal money and throw it away. You chase around a giant Bat but you don't kill him. _Why?_" She asked a little desperately.

"Well, Doc, that's a little forward of you," he licked his lips and cackled at his own joke. "You haven't even asked about my childhood yet."

"I don't want to hear another made-up story about a childhood you've written like a horror story," Harleen said frankly. "I've got a file full of fake stories about abusive fathers, alcoholic mothers, foster homes, and cruel orphanages," Harleen shook her folder with emphasis. The Joker looked just the teensiest bit taken a back. "My favorite, by the way, was the one with the dead father and horrible stepmother and stepsisters," Harleen added. "Cinderella?

"Look, I just want the truth. Please, Mr. J. Tell me why."

"Why not?" he shrugged as well as he could in a strait jacket.

"That's –"

"Don't interrupt me," he slid in. His voice and demeanor suddenly changed dramatically as his tone went icy and his face became cold. He licked his scarred lips preemptively.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to do exactly what you wanted? Because I don't wonder. I do. I spend my days thinking the impossible and _doing_ it. They call me a freak. But I just act as I am. They're the freaks," he spat, "for ignoring themselves, for hiding it up. I let my inner self," he paused, "come out and bare its ugly teeth because _I'm not afraid of it_.

"Why do you wear that nonsense?" he asked, indicating to Harleen's apparel. She pulled her white doctor's coat closer to her body. "Because _they_ tell you to. If you wanted to go around wearing nothing but a little pair of pink undies, why shouldn't you? Who thinks it is their place to tell you what to do?

"I act outside of any kind of government. Any kind of social or political "rules". _I am my government._ My only rule? _Do as you please!" _ Instead of getting louder, his voice got creepily softer as he became more animated.

"The Bat . . . He's a man stuck between both worlds. His inner-person, his true self, is out at night every time he puts on the cowl and beat thugs to shreds. But he has to hide that, because of _them_.

"I steal because it pleases me. I torture because it delights me. And I kill because it _thrills_ me. They say it's bad and that I shouldn't do it. But what do _they_ know? Have you ever killed anyone, Doc? Felt the pleasure of a twisted knife or a quick bullet tearing through flesh like it's bread and butter? It's like an aphrodisiac, being the last thing a person experiences as their life slips before you. _They_ say it feels bad. But I do it because it feels oh so good."

Harleen sat with her mouth open like an idiot, feeling as though she was physically slapped. Part of her was thrilled that the Joker opened up to her like that. But most of her was simply thrown for a loop trying to dissect what he said and why her immediate thought wasn't a dismissive "crazy".

"I'm trying to take control of a city so that I can help everyone be free," he added in a private whisper. Harleen felt her eyes lock with his. "All I want is for the freaks to be freaks, out in the open. Better than being locked in a jail cell for being who they are. Why should I have to hide who I am?" he added. His dark eyes flashed and Harleen stared, transfixed.

She suddenly remembered her place, that she was in Arkham Asylum, working, not on a date, and this was her_ patient_ for God's sake.

"I've . . . I've got to . . ." she stammered horribly. She collected her papers, nearly dropped them, and left red-faced and trembling. But not before she heard him call out,

"See you soon. Harley."

The next day, she was summoned to Bradley's office. With several of Gotham's police force present, he informed her that the Joker had escaped from Arkham.


	5. A Bat's Delivery

For Bradley, she kept her expression neutral and concerned. Even after he demanded her session tapes, she still kept her face impartial. She knew that Bradley wouldn't be pleased with them. The Joker obviously seemed to intimidate and frighten her. But how could Harleen explain that it wasn't fear that made her heart race and her lips tremble, but excitement and passion? That her letting him interrupt and talk over her was out respect, not cowardice? Of course, a crush on a patient wouldn't make Bradley jump up and down either.

But still when Bradley yelled, even screamed at her after listening to the tapes, Harleen was the epitome of an apologetic and bewildered doctor. It was only when he finally screeched that under no circumstances would Harleen ever be considered to treat the Joker again on his impending reentry to Arkham (with half of the GCPD looking for him it looked likely) that Harleen's face slipped a little. She thought he saw it too, because for a half a second he looked taken aback at the pure anger in her eyes. But she quickly closed her face off again and Bradley decided he had imagined it. Harleen put on a good show. She even let her faux shame show for the other doctors to see and heard a few concerned whispers.

But in the privacy of her own home, she was distraught and heartbroken.

_ How could he just leave me? Didn't he realize how . . . special those sessions were? _She listened to their tapes over and over again and tried to spot any references or hints to his escape. She listened hollowly and thought of all the things she should have said.

She used up all of her sick days to take a week to mourn him. She spent her days uselessly weeping and moping about her apartment. She didn't realize that in city like Gotham, a man like the Joker had more than just the GCPD looking for him.

Finally, the day after her sick pay ended, Harleen waited for dark to fall and hailed a cab to Arkham Asylum. She had decided that was her best bet on checking in on her patients. She could imagine all the rumors swirling around about Harleen Quinzel, the intern turned slut who went insane.

As she was entering the building, she heard a deep voice call out from the shadows.

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel?"

"Yes?" she answered automatically. She whipped around and strained her eyes to make out a shape in the shadows. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am," the voice said. He stepped forward and Harleen almost gasped.

"How do you know my name?" she asked in horror to the giant and menacing shape that was the Batman.

"I have your patient." Harleen's mind was slow to realize what he meant. "I need you to let us inside," he said, still masking his voice to a deep growl.

"You mean . . . You have Mr. . . I mean the Joker?" she fumbled.

He inclined his head slowly to the door and access panel opened by security card only. Harleen fumbled for her card with cold hands, dropped it, and cursed as she slid it in.

The idea that this man was an imposter – not the Batman, but a mockery of him – never occurred to her. This man exuded confidence and deception as if he had been born in his dark cape and cowl.

"Why even bother with a door?" Harleen asked, despite herself.

"I've broken enough windows at Arkham. I would if I had to," he growled, dragging a tightly bound body behind him as they entered Arkham.

Harleen hurried to the desk and turned the lights on in the hall. At this time of night, the front desk security team had gone home. As the florescent lights flickered on, Harleen gasped.

"What did you _do _to him?" She rushed forward, horrified.

The Joker sat uncomfortably on the ground with his legs and arms tied tightly with rope. He was sporting a black eye with several lacerations lightly bleeding around it. There was blood on his knuckles and wrists.

"I did what I had to," the Batman muttered, turning in the doorway.

"Who do you think you are?" Harleen spluttered, outraged. She pointed an accusing finger at the Batman, surprising herself with her own ferocity. "You beat up a defenseless mental patient like he was a punching bag!" She dropped to her knees and began to pat the Joker's greasy green hair. "How could you?"  
The Batman half turned around and Harleen caught a glimpse of his surprised blue eyes. He looked at the two of them huddled on the ground with growing unease. But then his eyes flickered up as guards burst into the room. Arkham was filled with top of the art surveillance cameras, so both Harleen and Batman had known the second the Joker entered the premise they would come running.

Harleen blinked and he was gone. She turned her attention back to the Joker, cooing softly as she stroked his hair. "My poor, poor baby," she whispered tenderly before the guards could take him away to his cell. She thought she saw an enlightened glimmer in his eye as they carried him away.

* * *

Harleen was given strict orders by Bradley to not even visit the floor where Joker was being facilitated. It didn't even cross her mind to do as she was told. Harleen merely snatched his keys and waited the hours needed to visit the Joker. By the time he realized they were missing it would be the next morning, and she'd have long slipped them under his door.

Harleen took the back stairs and nearly killed herself on the fire escape, but successfully made her way to the Joker's cell without meeting any of the hallways she knew were monitored closely with cameras. She slipped through his door without hesitating.

"Harley," he said almost as if he had been expecting her.

"Look," she said, coming closer. "I shouldn't even be here. But I had to see you."

"Did you? Me? The lowly old mental patient?" He cackled lightly.

"When you were gone, I couldn't stop thinking about you," Harleen said earnestly. "I realized that I . . . I uh, well I guess I kind of fell in love with you, Mr. J," Harleen said softly. "All those sessions and I did my best to listen and be impartial. But I guess I did the most unoriginal thing possible. I went and fell in love with my patient," she laughed nervously to Joker's impartial face. She looked down at her fidgeting fingers. "I just thought that maybe, well –"  
"I loved you back?" He laughed and tears stung Harleen's eyes as the sound echoed in the room.

"Oh," he said after a minute when her sobs became apparent. He waited a moment, obviously uncomfortable. "Harley . . ." For the first time since Harleen had met him, she thought he sounded uneasy. "Now stop crying. I mean it – I can't stand that whimpering, Harley. **STOP**!" He bellowed unexpectedly. Harleen hiccupped in surprise and took her face out of her hands. "Good girl. Now, it's nothing personal, sweets. I just don't love anyone."

"Anyone?" she asked in wonder, her tears subsiding. "But that's horrible."

He shrugged in the gloom. Harleen leaned in closer to see his face better and was once again struck by his wounds. She put one hand softly on his cheek and traced a nasty looking bruise.

"You poor, poor thing," she repeated sadly, her tears starting up again. "The bad Batman hurt you."

The previous gleam entered Joker's eyes and all of a sudden he went from annoyed to downright miserable. "That's what those people do to me, Harley," his eyes downcast. "Bats beats me up and then throws me in here to rot," he said bitterly.

"No one should ever hurt you. And you won't rot in here! I'll be here for you," Harleen whispered softly.

The Joker threw his head in his hands to hide his grimace. "But see – I'm trapped in here. Even with you," he barely kept his face straight, "I don't know if I can stand another few months here. But what else is a guy to do?" Joker said. "I tried to get out of here and look what Bats did to me!" He said indignantly. "I had no one to help me, I suppose. I shouldn't have expected anything more."

"I could help you," Harleen whispered.

"No, of course you couldn't. You're a doctor here. I can't ask you to do that for me, Harley," the Joker said. A smile was beginning to creep its way onto his otherwise dejected expression.

"If I free you, I'd be free too," she said. "We could do whatever we wanted. Be whoever we wanted," she repeated, remembering his previous words. Her eyes were huge and transfixed. "I don't have to wait around and pray you don't break out and leave me. I can help you break out of here. I can break out with you," she whispered.

"Now, now, let's not go too far," the Joker heeded, but Harleen's didn't hear his words.

"I'm going to leave you now, sweetums. But I'll be back. I will, Mistah J," she grinned an insane smile and left the Joker a little taken aback as she sprinted out the door.

* * *

Her first stop was the department store she had visited almost a month ago. She flipped through the glass of the upmost window with near ease and walked casually down the aisles, seeming oblivious to the fact that it was nearly midnight and everything had been locked up for hours. She reached out and grabbed things by merely glancing at them. Black leather, red and black cotton, heavy black boots. Lastly on her checklist was a visit to Guns & Ammo, where she picked up a beauty of a gun that the man assured her would suit any and all of her needs. He was a pain about some permit or other though, so when his back was turned Harleen walked out of the store with it and a month's worth of ammo. It was a shame he chased after her though; he had been willing to give her such a good deal on it.

Harley left his crumpled body in the street and reached her apartment. She picked up a needle and thread for the first time since medical school.


	6. A Beginning to an End

Chapter 6:

"Pamela Isley. Pam. Pam, wake up!" Pamela Isley groaned in her sleep and half-heartedly threw a hand out at whatever doctor dared to wake her up at this hour of the morning. "Please wake up, Pammy. Please. I need your help."

Pammy? Pamela Isley frowned and squinted through tired eyes. "Dr. Quinzel? What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Pam Isley exclaimed as she opened her eyes further.

"It's Harley now, Pammy. Harley Quinn," she grinned and Pam nearly jumped out of her skin once she finally got a good look at her.

"Like it?" Harley grinned too wide. Pam gaped as she took in Harley's appearance. She was used to the professional and businesslike doctor, but Harley didn't look a thing like Pam had ever seen her. She took in her red and black mini skirt and tight black corset paired with a thick pair of combat boots. Her blonde hair was tied in almost childish-like pigtails with a red or black ribbon adorning each. Her make-up was almost garish with her blood red lipstick and huge shadows of eyeliner around her eyes. Pam was surprised she had even recognized her.

"What happened to you, Harley-girl?" Pamela whispered.

"I got a make-over, Pammy!" Harley grinned and jumped up. Pam recoiled slightly, not used to the change in voice and personality as well as appearance of Dr. Quinzel.

As Harley swished over to Pam's small pile of belongings and grabbed a fresh orange jumpsuit, Pam suddenly put it together.

"You're a mock Harlequin. This is about the goddamn Joker!" Pamela said disgusted.

"Now, Pammy. I thought you knew!" Harley gulped and passed her the orange clothing.

"Knew? I was teasing you! I mostly thought it was some sick joke," Pamela said with her slightly green nose wrinkled. Her expression softened though when she took in Harley's crestfallen expression.

"I need your help, Pammy," Harleen repeated softly.

"You want to break him out," Pam realized in a monotone voice.

"You, too!" Harley insisted. "I want to break you both of your jail cells. But I can't do it alone, Red."

"And what makes you think I can?" Pamela Isley said loftily, crossing her arms.

"I was your doctor for over a year. I know what you can do, Pammy. Please, help me free him."

"If they catch us . . ." Pam turned and faced Harley. "They'll throw me in isolation at Blackgate. Joker, too. I'll never see my plants again. And you'll be here Harley," Pam said seriously, grabbing Harley's hand as she tried to pull away. "They'll lock you up as another victim of the Joker, driven almost as insane as he is. Do you really want to chance that?" She looked Harley in the eye. "It's not too late. You can wipe away the makeup, throw away the clothes, and be some smartass doctor again. Don't do all this for a madman."

Harley snatched her hand out of Pam's grip. "I'm doing this for me!" For the first time, Pam saw Harley angry. "Not that long ago, you wanted to be friends. Does that still stand, or doesn't it?" Pam thought she sounded like a petulant child and to seemingly embody this, Harley placed her hands on her hips and pouted.

Pam rolled her eyes. But she weighed her pros and cons, and with a mixture of pity, misplaced motherly instinct, and a small kernel of hope at the thought of freedom (and protecting her beloved plants again, Pam thought with a pang), Pam took Harley's hands in her own.

"I'm in. What do you need me to do?"

* * *

The Arkham Asylum's staff was well-trained to deal with the sinister, disturbing, and even creepy circumstances that frequented the mental institution. They had seen their own doctors turn into patients, dealt with mutated patients who weren't necessarily even human, and had the occasional direct contact with the mysterious vigilante known as Batman. But on the day that Harleen Quinzel turned into Harley Quinn, enough was enough. Because frankly, murderous plants that seemed to move and grow of their own free will was too weird even for Arkham standards.

Harley knew what Poison Ivy could do. There were still buildings on the East side that were being de-planted after her exploits with the Batman and Gotham's police force. So she didn't hesitate in bringing Pam to the central office of Arkham in broad daylight.

"Block all doors except the one in front of us," Harley whispered in her ear as soon as they arrived.

"Sweetie, I'm already a step ahead of you," Poison Ivy smirked.

They whole room jerked up their heads at the sound of screaming outside the room. With unease, most turned their heads to the suddenly noticed intruders Harley and Pam, who stood quite inoffensively in the center of the room. All of a sudden, giant thick vines burst into the room and impaled most everyone in the room.

Harley gulped a little at the sight of the puddles of blood forming in the room. Her eyes were fixated on a doctor she had had lunch with once or twice. The doctor, whose eyes were already glazed over in death, did nothing to help Harley's wavering confidence in her plan.

"Having second thoughts?" Poison Ivy asked mockingly, interrupting her thoughts. Harley shook her head, almost seemingly to convince herself, and without a glance behind her, walked through the door in front of her and Pam.

With a flick of Poison Ivy's wrist giant windows shattered, bursts of green vines spun through the room, and many of Arkham's finest cried out their last breaths. Harley barely had time to appreciate Pam's effectiveness between avoiding vines and pointing to the various doors that lead to their destination.

"Pam!" Harley screeched suddenly.

Poison Ivy whipped around and lifted her hand quickly. In response, a giant vine with deadly thorns impaled a shocked security officer before he could even reach for his gun. Several others entered the hall and a slight sweat shone on Pam's skin from her efforts to keep them from getting close to herself and Harley.

"NOOO!" she boomed as one man violently cut through a vine to reach the two women. She stalked over and grabbed his collar as the room stared at her in disbelief. "Don't. Touch. Them." She hissed. She picked a fallen shard of glass and personally stabbed it through his stomach and twisted. The man gasped and watched her actions, staggered and horror-struck.

She turned back towards the others and with a flash Harley thought she saw her eyes turn near red. "All of you," she purred, and Harley jumped at the change in tone. "Will march around and block this exit with whatever means necessary. Kill any human that tries to pass you," she said, almost lovingly. "_Don't _hurt my babies." She took a moment to appreciate her now dull-eyed and obedient army. "Now, go," she grinned a slow and sexy smile.  
"What was that?" Harley asked with wide eyes as the men sprinted off and Poison Ivy turned back toward her.

"_That_ is what happens when womanly virtues get combined with plant pheromones. Come on, that won't hold them forever!"

Harley led them through hallway after hallway until they reached the antechamber before the Joker's cell. Harley moved quickly to open the cell, but was suddenly stopped but a swarm of armored men.

_Are those SWAT? _

Poison Ivy didn't hesitate to attack. But with their additional armor, obvious training, and the pure quantity of them, Harley discovered Pam was outmatched for the first time.

Just as she was beginning to feel her own desperation, Harley felt a rumbling under her feet. She looked down, confused, and felt a vine tighten around her waist. She screamed and kicked furiously, but after a moment in threw her body against the wall at the edge of the room. She turned her head to see a giant tree sprout from beneath the concrete floor of the room and through the ceiling. Her mouth dropped open as the near dozen of officers were either impaled or forced through the glass roof of the antechamber.

"Red?" Harley coughed after a few minutes as the dust settled in the room. "Where are you?" She stumbled over now still roots and bodies until she nearly bumped right into her.

"Pam! There you are."

"Hi, Harley-girl. You okay? Sorry I didn't give you much warning," she said without moving her eyes from a large officer in front of her. His eyes were transfixed on her as well, and though he looked to be completely healthy, there was a dulled quality to his face and eyes that Harley thought she recognized.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go, Pammy," Harley said with slight exasperation.

"Can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" She said, her exasperation growing.

"This is where I'm leaving you, Harley-girl."

"What? You're not coming with us?" Harley let her hurt bleed through her words.

"With you and the clown?" Pam shuddered. "No. I got you here. You're steps away from him. And I'm free," she indicated to the open window to her left, her eyes still not moving from the soldier's.

"But . . . Why?" Harley pouted.

Pam suddenly took her eyes away from the man in front of her and turned to Harley. "You got your own life to live. Go off with that goddamn clown and start a circus or something. You don't need me anymore, sweetie," she said flatly.

Harley felt her eyes fill a little. "I thought . . ." she gulped. "I thought we were all going to go together," she admitted, realizing how much she wanted the plant-woman's company.

Pam smiled a little. "We'll see each other. Gotham's not that big a place. Don't be sad." She put her hand on Harley's chin. "Chin-up, Harley-girl. You got your man, after all," she laughed softly and Harley smiled.

The thug suddenly moved and without any hesitation jumped out the window. Both of them turned to watch him go. Since Pam didn't move or express any panic, Harley guessed that was exactly what she had somehow told him to do.

"Cute, isn't he?" Pam said, turning back with a coy smile. "I think I'll keep this one for a little while. I do like having a strong man around." She turned around to go with a swish of her red hair. "Oh, one more thing before I go." She walked back over to Harley and with no hesitation leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips. Too shocked at first to do anything, Harley stood still with her lips slightly parted and felt Pam's lips against her own. After a moment of bewilderment, Harley jumped back in surprise.

"What the _HELL_ was that?" She gasped.

Pam giggled as she placed one slightly green leg out the window. "I wanted to leave you with a little something!"

"But . . . I . . . you . . ." Harley spluttered.

"Relax. I gave you some of my immunity, Harley-girl. I hope it keeps you safe." Pamela Isley pulled the other leg over and jumped from the window. Harley ran over and reached it just in time to see Pam land in the arms of her officer, now hypnotized to do her bidding.

"Safe from what?" Harley called out.

"Most poisons and toxins," Pam called out from below. "You'll need it, Harley-girl. You're welcome, by the way." She turned to go and blew Harley one last kiss. "Good-bye, Harley! Give the clown a smack for me!" With the vines trailing behind her, Poison Ivy and her minion sprinted off. Harley waved once, though Pam couldn't see, and smiled.

_Who knew that I had once seen her as some sort of volatile patient? She's . . . my best friend. _

She stiffened slightly as she head distant footsteps echoing. She quickly pulled out her gun and scurried to the Joker's door. She shot the lock three times before the door creaked open.

"What the hell?" Joker asked as Harley stepped into the room.

"It's just me, puddin'. Harley. Harley Quinn," she stepped forward as Joker's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

Dread crept into Harley as the Joker was completely silent. For the first time, Harley realized that she wouldn't have anything to return to if the Joker didn't want her. Her hands trembled as she fingered her gun.

"So this is what a girl looks like when she ignores all the rules," Joker said eventually, his grin beginning to form.

"Not just any girl, Mistah J. _Your_ girl."

"Well I'll be," the Joker stood up with a wide grin. "You really are breaking me out. Well," he turned and gave his cell a last look. "Let's go then."

Harley grinned and without thinking wrapped her arms around the Joker's neck in an embrace. The Joker froze and she cringed slightly as she realized that she had just embraced possibly the most notorious criminal in Gotham. She suddenly felt very afraid; she wasn't sure if he was going to slap her cheek or knee her stomach. But then she felt his hands cautiously slip around her back and she nearly swooned in pleasure.

"Joker! Put your hands up!" A man yelled from the doorframe. Harley felt the Joker stiffen again. "Release the doctor and put your hands up or I shoot!" The man yelled again from the doorway. Harley heard the distinct click of a loaded gun.

In one motion, Harley whirled around and shot bullet after bullet into the man in the doorway. As she felt the heat from the gun and the pull from the release, Harley saw the man in front of her crumple and the gun drop from his hands. But she kept firing, and some part of her was gasping, because though she had more than a few bodies on her hands after today, this was the first person she was physically responsible for killing. Finally, Harley pried her hands off the quivering gun and turned to look at her Joker.

A huge and terrifying smile filled his face, made all the more chilling by the scars on either side of his mouth. His eyes flared with life and excitement. He leered toward Harley until he was only a breath away from her mouth. The Joker licked his lips with anticipation and lightly caressed her startled face.

"We're going to have some fun," he breathed. He laughed deeply, pulling his head back as his body shook. Without a backwards glance, he exited the room.

With just the slightest pause, the woman who was once Dr. Harleen Quinzel got her bearings and picked up the gun from the floor. And without any further thought, Harley Quinn stepped over the dead body in the doorway and followed her Joker.

* * *

**Personal Note: **

**This is my first fanfic I've ever finished, and I just wanted to say I've really enjoyed it! I can't say that Harley is my favorite character that I've ever written - but there is something about her that definitely intrigued me. The Joker himself is such a complex and disturbing character that you have to wonder what kind of woman not only falls in love with him but becomes his most loyal (henchwoman?). Also - what made this even more fun was publishing it for others to read! I've loved reading other Batman fanfics on here, as well as appreciated the comments and support I've got from others! Thanks to everyone for reading this far! **

**I wanted to give a little background about the Harley character I created in "The Harley in Harlequin". My primary influence were the videogames in the Arkham series by Rocksteady. That is where I first learned about Harley Quinn and where I was first struck by her. Her bio in Arkham Asylum didn't just describe her as a villain, but as a dangerous ****_victim_**** of the Joker who perhaps does everything out of love. I loved toying with that - how much of her "badness" is simply the evil in her, and how much is out of the manipulation the Joker has on her. **

**The voice, mannerisms, appearance, and relationship with "Mistah J" are all based on that view of her in the videogames. The Batman: Animated Series is where I got the basic idea of Harley breaking Joker out from Arkham as a story I might want to write. The little six minute clip of Harley meeting Joker, falling in love, and breaking him out (now as his sidekick) is still on youtube, I believe, and really helped me get the feel for Dr. Harleen Quinzel, since in the videogame she is merely mentioned/referred to and never shown. **

**After that, I just kind of flew with the idea of how Harley fell in love with the Joker and also turned into a badguy. I always thought the relationship between Harley and Ivy was fascinating (both from the comic books and videogames), and so I wanted to include Ivy in my story of Harley's origin, especially when I learned Harley does in fact help Ivy escape from Arkham multiple times in the comics. (Ivy does also give Harley the immunity to toxins, though how she gets it in here is of my own creation. Hee hee). The fact that Ivy cares for Harley in kind of a little sister way, when she has only ever cared for plants caught me. So she officially joined my plot. **

**In the Batman: Animated Series, it's implied that Harley breaks the Joker out in a fairly dramatic and violent way. But I wanted to focus on it a little more, so I decided to have Ivy help Harley with her first crime. That is probably my biggest departure from what was originally written by DC comics, so I was nervous about including it in my story. But I like the closure it gave everybody, so I decided to keep it. **

**Now, this of course, isn't the end for Harley and Joker. That's why I loved to leave it on that end "We're going to have some fun". Because what comes next is all the adventures we know so well. For those of you who are strictly Nolanverse fans, I'd like to think of this as going on during the Dark Knight (if Harley was included in Nolan's version of Batman world). Next comes even more of the cat and mouse chase between Joker and Batman. **

**I hope you enjoyed what I wrote! I'd love to hear anything you have to say, so definitely leave me a comment about anything (good or bad). I also love reading other people's perspective on Harley's transformations - so if you have your own definitely let me know and I'd love to check it out! I am always honored and humbled to have my work read and reviewed. Thank you, dear reader, for reading all 11,000 words of this. :) **

**Disclaimer: Almost everyone in here is of DC's own creation (though with my twist on it, I'll take my nod for that). Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn, the Batman cameo, the Joker, and Poison Ivy are all DC's characters and they, therefore, get the credit. Issac Bradley was of my own creation, so I can get credit for that slime ball. Boom. **


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